Dinner Plate for Two
by NinjaMoose
Summary: It was just the two of them eating at the quaint Italian restaurant, just enjoying the food and each other's company and-WERE THEY EATING THE SAME STRAND OF SPAGHETTI! Ger/Ita Fluff ONESHOT


This was bad, very, very bad.

Germany honestly didn't know what to do in situations like this. Sure, similar situations had come up before but not like this. Not so close, not so…easily.

If only he hadn't agreed to take Italy to the restaurant. If only he had kept with his plan to have a normal dinner at his home, Italy was planning on cooking there anyway. But no, one whiff of fresh pasta and garlic, and Italy half-dragged Germany into the small corner family restaurant.

"Germany~" Italy smiled, "You're gonna love this place!"

"You've been here before?" Germany didn't remember taking the Italian to this specific restaurant, but then again, they went to so many it was hard to keep track sometimes.

"Yeah. You were really busy one day, so me 'n Japan went."

"Oh." Germany let Italy lead the way, speaking Italian to the waiter and (since there were no menus placed down) Germany guessed Italy already ordered for them. A minute later the waiter was back with glasses of wine for the both of them and mentioned their food would be out shortly.

Germany took a sip from his glass, the restaurant was pretty nice. It had the classic, perhaps stereotyped look of an Italian restaurant, checkered table cloths, wine bottles, and a very delicious smell in the air. The seats were comfortable, and the candles on the tables were nice touches, and lights were dimmed in a romantic way that made Germany blush. "So, what is it exactly you were so excited about here?"

"Spaghetti!" Italy's smile seemed to grow too big for his face.

"Just spaghetti?" They could have made that at the house…

"Not just any spaghetti! The largest plate of spaghetti I've ever seen! Or at least in a while…"

Wait…

"Does…," Germany felt his neck get a little hot, "does that mean we're sharing a plate?"

"Ve~…"

The waiter then showed up with the food, and Germany felt his face pale. How did all of that fit on that plate? The plate was already larger than the average dinner plate, but piling a mountain of spaghetti on it…

Germany was vaguely aware of the waiter telling them to enjoy their food before smiling and walking away. Dumbfounded, Germany looked at Italy. Italy wore a strange crooked smile, the same one he always wore before a big meal. On cue, a drop of saliva slipped out of the corner of his mouth. "Ve~…"

Italy picked up his fork, licked his lips, and started on the pasta. For eating so rabidly, he was very clean about it. Italy ate off of his side of the plate, and for that Germany was thankful. His germ phobia was still strong as ever, regardless of how close he and Italy were.

Germany had to admit though, it was very good pasta. The spaghetti was soft, but not too soft, the sauce spicy, but not overly so, and the wine definitely was A grade (Germany guessed Italy pulled some strings while talking to the waiter). Time passed easily as the two countries ate and listened to the other people in the restaurant.

Germany chuckled to himself when he spotted the single spaghetti strand leading up to his mouth. It was like a bad movie or something. Humoring fate, he slurped up the noodle.

And then froze.

The middle of the noodle was no longer hidden; in fact it hung in the air between the two countries.

And here he was.

So bad, so bad, so bad!

One end of the noodle was in Germany's mouth, the other…

Italy slowly inched closer. His eyes were closed with pleasure, most likely taking in the full extent of the pasta's deliciousness.

Closer and closer…

The worst part was Germany didn't want to let go.

Should he say something?

Closer…

Italy's lips looked so…

Closer…

Warm.

"Mmm…?"

Italy opened his eyes, staring right into Germany's face. He looked down and noticed his mouth no longer had spaghetti sticking out of it, but rather had Germany's lips. Italy pulled away.

"Ve…," He grinned, a blush on his cheeks, "Germany…?"

Germany was beet red. A shaky hand reached up and brushed his mouth. Did…Did he and Italy…just…?

"You taste like pasta, Germany."

So did Italy…

"Ve~…Are you okay, Germany?"

Germany didn't look up. Italy reached across the table and grabbed both sides of the German's head.

"That was kinda like that movie, you know?" Italy smiled and Germany looked at him, speechless. Before Germany could stop him, right as he was getting over the shock, Italy gently kissed him again.

"You'll be the Tramp, Germany." Italy laughed.

As embarrassing as that was (people were staring and giggling at them), it was sweet in its own way. Pulling himself together, (after all he had kissed Italy before, what made this different?) Germany cleared his throat and continued eating.

As they left the restaurant, Germany thought and smiled. "I guess that means you're my Lady, Italy?"

Italy chuckled and leaned into Germany's shoulder. "Ve~…"


End file.
